


Of Contacts and Confessions

by agenderleadingplayer



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: M/M, verse, way after canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-27 01:16:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5028058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agenderleadingplayer/pseuds/agenderleadingplayer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So this is a little poem I wrote about what would happen with Connor and Kevin after they left their mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Contacts and Confessions

**Author's Note:**

> this is my third mcpriceley thing and i have never been less ashamed
> 
> i love Suffering it makes me feel Alive™

he's not  
real.  
you've convinced yourself that  
there was no  
way something so  
beautiful could  
be, that the crook of his  
neck and the  
curve of his lips that  
still haunt your dreams were  
nothing more than a  
two-year-long  
fantasy.  
so you immerse yourself in  
everything else:  
walk around the  
city, pretend it  
owns you,  
learn how to  
tap again.  
he's not real. 

but he's in your contacts.  
he gave you his  
number your last  
day together, said  
if you needed anything  
you should call  
him.  
and you've needed  
him so  
much lately,  
because during the  
day you're nothing  
but bloodstained  
palms and  
chewed-up  
fingernails, and  
during the night  
you can't breathe half  
the time, but  
you never call him.  
he's 600 miles down  
the coast living it  
up in the city that  
called to him as  
early as  
nine years  
old, and you  
can't ruin that for  
him.  
so for the time  
being, he isn't  
real. 

your phone rings,  
and his name is  
plastered across the  
screen in a blinding  
white that makes you  
sick to your  
stomach.  
you pick  
up on the third  
ring, steady your  
voice, try to pretend you  
haven't rehearsed this  
conversation every  
night since you left.  
his voice is soft as he  
asks you if you're  
okay, and you don't really  
know what to  
say so you start  
to say yes, but  
the tears won't stop  
coming and soon you're  
making a complete  
fool of yourself,  
sobbing uncontrollably while  
he sits there,  
on the other  
end of the  
line, probably  
wishing he could  
hang up already, and  
why did you have to  
go and do  
this, you wonder to  
yourself, why did  
you have to  
go and get so  
attached that some  
nights you can't see  
straight because his  
face has stayed  
in your mind for  
too many weeks  
now, too many  
sleepless nights or  
nights where you do  
sleep but wake up in  
a cold sweat, not  
wanting to touch  
anything for fear that it  
might explode. 

but he talks to  
you like you matter,  
and you think about  
all the times you  
could've sworn you  
saw the sun in his  
eyes, and so  
maybe you can  
let yourself tell  
him you miss him this  
time, maybe you can  
allow yourself that  
luxury. 

he is quiet after you  
finally say  
it, the phrase a  
choked up mess of  
jumbled syllables, but  
after a few seconds he  
repeats it back to  
you and you wonder if  
you can hear his voice  
breaking, or if it's just  
your imagination, but  
either way he's  
real, you're  
sure of it  
now, he's  
real, and he  
may be 600  
miles away, but  
it still feels like  
he's standing right  
next to you, looking  
at you like you  
mean something to  
him, the sun in  
his eyes brighter than  
ever, telling you he  
misses you  
too.


End file.
